C2 Detached

The long street bustled with shops and teemed with people. Yu Yin wandered aimlessly, clueless about the location of the Abstruse Root Hall and uncertain of whom to ask for directions.

At the street's end lay a broad river, and crossing the bridge would lead to another district of Xuanlong City. The stone bridge was sparsely populated, save for two or three beggars soliciting alms.

"Stop, you can't come here," an unkempt old beggar barked, eyeing Yu Yin warily, as if fearing he might usurp his begging spot.

Yu Yin, who had been lost in thought for most of the day, was taken aback by the sudden confrontation, his face etched with confusion.

"How do I get to the Abstruse Root Hall?" he inquired.

"Abstruse Root Hall..." The old beggar paused, his expression one of bewilderment.

Realizing the old man was just as lost, Yu Yin frowned and continued on his way without further ado.

The beggar breathed a sigh of relief, having mistaken Yu Yin's intentions. He had been genuinely concerned about losing his spot to the younger, stronger man, knowing that these days, one could never be too sure about people's motives.

Beyond the bridge, Yu Yin's gaze fell upon a towering archway inscribed with the words "Huaxi District" in silver paint. This district was the enclave of Xuanlong City's elite, renowned as its most affluent area.

The road stretched out, wide and flanked by towering trees, giving Yu Yin the surreal impression of stepping into a scene from a dream—vast, elegant, and utterly serene.

As he proceeded, a secluded path to his right piqued his curiosity. At its end stood an ancient temple, its solemn stone lions guarding the partially ajar entrance.

Mindful not to squander a single coin of his money, Yu Yin hesitated briefly before heading toward the temple, considering it a potential refuge for the night if it was unoccupied.

The majestic temple was nestled among intertwining trees. Pushing open the door, he was greeted by a slanted incense burner and scattered debris. A dried mound of feces lay beneath a crimson pillar, a testament to the temple's neglected and forlorn state.

Yu Yin surveyed the high platform where a deity's statue, now defaced with graffiti, stood. He had no idea who she represented or even where he was. His initial thought was that the place was likely uninhabited, and as it turned out, he was right.

Upon seeing the statue in such disrepair, Yu Yin set down his belongings and grabbed a broom from the corner. He climbed up to the platform and began to clean meticulously, considering it fair compensation for a night's shelter.

As night descended, he curled up in a corner to rest. The statue, restored to its original form, suddenly burst into a dazzling array of colors. The light then poured into Yu Yin's body before fading away.

On the continent, it was a steadfast belief that humans were created by the gods. Thus, since time immemorial, deity statues have been revered in various places, seen as the great mother of humanity, with people considering themselves her children.

This particular temple, due to its remote location, had been ordered by the lord of Xuanlong City to be relocated. Now, it stood neglected and in disrepair.

It's worth noting that among the continent's cultivators, a legend persisted: those blessed by a deity would become individuals of great destiny.

But Yu Yin, shivering into his dreams, was oblivious to this.

Dawn broke—

Life stirred anew as the cold wind swept through the temple, rousing Yu Yin from his slumber with a shiver.

With limited funds and no time to waste, he quickly gathered his belongings and left the temple after the cold snapped him awake.

The streets, paved with clean green stone bricks, were desolate and stretched out before him. The aroma of meat from a nearby bun shop wafted through the air, tantalizing and inviting.

His stomach grumbled, and after a brief moment of indecision, Yu Yin approached the bun shop.

The shopkeeper was bustling about, attending to a steady stream of customers.

Yu Yin edged closer and inquired, "How much for a steamed bun?"

"Two for one copper coin," the shopkeeper replied, sparing him a quick glance before returning to his tasks.

Back in Lan Shu Town, a single copper coin would get you five buns. The prices here took Yu Yin aback. With only three hundred copper coins left, aside from the hundred silver coins for his registration at the Abstruse Root Hall, he hesitated to spend recklessly.

After a moment's hesitation, he finally handed over a copper coin and requested, "I'll take two."

Clutching two steamed buns, Yu Yin turned and walked away.

At the mouth of a shadowy alley, four young men in hemp garments leaned against the wall, joking and laughing. They were hunters from nearby towns, come to the city to toil as day laborers.

"Friends, could you tell me how to get to the Abstruse Root Hall?" Yu Yin approached and inquired.

Being new to the large city, he had been unsure how to ask for directions, but seeing these men dressed in a familiar way encouraged him to speak up.

The four, with poles resting on their bare arms, turned their attention to him.

One of the men, with a slightly round face, replied, "Just take the main road straight ahead to the left, and you'll find the Root Sculpting Palace."

"Thank you very much." Yu Yin, delighted, thanked them and promptly headed off.

Watching his departing figure, the four exchanged glances, then shifted their focus back to their conversation and laughter.

Yu Yin had fortuitously found his way to the Root Sculpting Palace in the heart of Xuanlong City's Huaxi district.

The imposing hall stood alone, with steeply pitched eaves, towering golden columns, a sacred and pristine white-golden door, and glittering glazed tiles. This was the sacred Root Sculpting Palace, revered by many as a place where one's destiny could be transformed.

Ascending the high platform, he took in the panoramic view. The grand white-golden doors stood open, and as Yu Yin surveyed the scene, he noticed that the platform was mostly occupied by individuals in fine attire, exuding an air of distinction.

Entering the hall amidst the astonished stares of the crowd, he felt an inexplicable nervousness. He was acutely aware of the implications behind their looks.

After all, how many would be willing to wager a hundred silver coins on such an improbable venture, especially for someone clad in humble hemp?

The interior of the hall was expansive, with eight men in red standing before eight towering closed stone doors, each with a lengthy queue in front of them. The lines were filled mostly with youths—some as young as eleven or twelve, and the eldest barely in their twenties.

"If you want to take the test, pay up and get in line. If not, leave immediately." An elderly man in purple robes and a white beard, seated behind a stone table near the entrance, spoke with detached indifference upon noticing Yu Yin looking around.

"I'll take the test," Yu Yin said, quickly pulling out his coin purse.

With a wave of his right hand, the old man made the purse vanish from Yu Yin's grasp.

"Join the queue."

Yu Yin, momentarily dumbfounded by the uncanny display, was jolted back to reality.

"Go!" The old man, catching Yu Yin's gaze, barked at him.

Not wanting to cause trouble, Yu Yin quickly joined the line.

"That old man is the head of the Root Sculpting Hall, sent here by the state. I've heard he's a level seven wrathful incantation practitioner with a notoriously foul temper. You'd do well not to provoke him," whispered a young man close to Yu Yin's age, turning to him.

"A level seven wrathful incantation practitioner?" Yu Yin exclaimed in surprise.

"So what? To be only at level seven at his age shows his lack of talent. He's probably here because the state had nowhere else to place him, so they assigned him to door duty," the young man said dismissively.

On the continent, while the six major professions differ, their ranking systems are the same, peaking at level ten, with source energy as the measure of strength. The higher the level, the greater the power.

Source energy is a unique force that cultivators, once ordinary people, generate through training. It's the foundation of their abilities and what distinguishes them from the non-cultivating populace.

A cultivator's source energy is intimately linked to their innate talent. For instance, a cultivator with a pulse energy of 35 will not produce more than that number in source energy daily. Many cultivators hover around 80 to 90 percent of their base talent, with few pushing themselves to their limits on a daily basis.

To reach level seven, a cultivator needs 200,000 units of source energy. Given the old man's age, over seventy, and his level seven status, he's either exceedingly indolent or of very low talent.

Clearly, the young man believed the latter to be true.